


Be Someone (That Makes You Happy)

by BoxOnTheNile



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Genderfluid Locus, Genderqueer Caboose, Multi, RvB Trans Week, Trans Dick Simmons, Trans Lavernius Tucker, at this point i think im the rarepair dragon, first four chapters are connected, how many rarepairs can i put in one fic, on my hoard of crackships, the rest are stand alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-14 21:56:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15398340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxOnTheNile/pseuds/BoxOnTheNile
Summary: My entries for RvB Trans Week.Ch. 1: Favorite Team- The Sim Trooper TransclubTeam welcome a new member.Ch. 2: Realization/Transition- a time when each of them came out. (mentions of Grimmons and Lolix)Ch. 3: Pride- Tucker adopts half of Chorus; Simmons wants to know how. (Grimmons, Tuckington, Team as Family)Ch. 4: Rituals- Dysphoria and how Locus deals with it. (Lolix, Logrimmons)Ch. 5: Social Media- Tucker and Junior go to the lake; Junior documents it on Snapchat. (Modern AU, Tuckington, minor Norkington)Ch. 6: AU- Locus hasn't fused with any of them, and Tucker is concerned. (Fusion AU, Lucker as a ship and a character)Ch. 7: Song/Lyrics- Sometimes, Sirens don't sleep well. (Tuckington, Borderlands AU, Siren!Tucker)





	1. Sim Trooper Trans Team Meeting in Progress

**Author's Note:**

> TAKE MY HEADCANONS. TAKE THEM. 
> 
> Im impatient and this has been done for over a W E E K so I'm posting three hours early.

The paper taped to the wall says “Sim Trooper Trans Team Meeting in Progress”.

Simmons stands in front of the couch with a clipboard and clears his throat. “I call this meeting of the Sim Troopers Trans Team to order. Caboose, what are we handling today?”

“First we are welcoming Locus to our team,” Caboose says. “I am very excited to have them.”

“I’m right here?” Locus says. “You can see me, and it’s the first time I’ve attended one of these meetings.”

“Yeah, because you waited until today to tell us we were misgendering you. What the fuck.” Tucker pushes Locus with his foot. 

“Masculine pronouns aren’t misgendering, I’m genderfluid!” they argue. “If I’d had a day where they were wrong before now, I would have told you.” That's a lie, but the others don't know that.

Simmons cocks an eyebrow. “I’m half convinced you only told us today because you were falling asleep at the breakfast table.” He straightens up. “But, to clarify, you’re he/they genderfluid and masculine pronouns are typically good?”

“Yes. But not today.”

Tucker throws his legs across Locus’s lap so his feet are on Caboose’s thighs. “Okay, please make sure you tell everyone on days ‘he’ doesn’t work for you. Caboose switches pronouns pretty regularly and we can usually keep up, but only because-” he stops and leans precariously to look at Caboose. “You were using feminine pronouns last night, do those still apply?”

Caboose shook their head. “I am also a ‘they’ today.”

Tucker nods. “We can only keep up because they tell us. We’ve been looking for the, like, buttons? The pins? With the arrows that point, so we don’t forget and use the wrong ones.”

“We could look for one for you, too,” Simmons says. “That’s what these meetings are for! So we can talk about the things we need that our wonderful but very cis friends do not.” He looks at his clipboard, then looks back up. “I’m he/him pronouns, by the way.”

“Also he/him.” Tucker raises a hand. Locus had assumed that, but they still nod. Acknowledgement is important.

“He/him is typically fine,” they say, “but gender neutral pronouns are always okay.” They glance at Caboose. “Occasionally she/her, but rarely.”

Caboose grins and throws their arms around Locus’s shoulders. “We’re the same! We need the same button. Simmons, we need the same button.”

Simmons writes on his clipboard. “I actually found a few? One looks like a compass, one points with crystal-y looking arrow thing, or we can buy several with one set of pronouns on each button.”

“I want a compass,” Caboose says. Simmons writes that down and looks expectantly at Locus.

Very softly, they say, “I used to have a set of three, like your last option. I lost them years ago, but I wouldn’t mind having another set.”

“Do you have a color preference?” Simmons asks.

“Green, probably,” Tucker says, while Caboose shouts “Purple!” and starts a brief argument.

Locus waits until they quiet down. “My last set was green except the feminine pronoun, which was actually purple. They were a gift from Meg- from a friend.” 

“Alright.” Simmons is grinning as he writes that down. “Anything we can do to make you feel more at home here matters, Locus. Let us know, even if it’s not a gender thing.”

“Teach me your favorite foods or something.” Tucker taps a fist against their bicep. Locus hums an affirmative. Caboose leans against their other side and starts humming, too.

“Next order of business is mostly for Tucker and I,” Simmons says. “HRT.” He hesitates. “Unless Locus also needs hormones?” Locus shakes their head. “Okay then, just us. The UNSC conveniently lost our medical records and wants us to jump through hoops again.”

“Bullshit!” Tucker sits up, almost kicking Caboose in the face. 

Grif peeks around the corner into the den. “You good? That was mad.”

“UNSC is full of morons, surprising no one,” Tucker tells him. “Shoo, this is not your meeting.”

Grif gives them all a thumbs up. “Gotcha. I’m making lunch, want me to bring you some?”

“Yes, please,” Caboose chirps. Grif retreats back to the kitchen.

“Anyway,” Simmons continues, but he seems less upset now. “I brought it up with Doctors Grey and Jacobi and both of them are willing to sign off on it, it’s just. Frustrating.”

“Infuriating,” Tucker mutters, and makes a disgusted sound. “Whatever.” He pouts for a second. “It’s fixable, right? Jacobi can handle it?”

“She and Grey are already handling it, they just need to prove they talked to us about it.”

“Neat. Anything else?”

Simmons consults the clipboard. “Nope, we’re officially open for the bitching portion of the meeting.”

Caboose immediately launches into a tirade about shoes for some reason, and Tucker awkwardly crawls over Locus to sit on the arm of the couch next to them. Simmons drops into the newly vacated space.

“You good?” he asks Locus. They nod. “These meetings first started because the three of us felt sorta isolated and were excited to find out we had people who _got it_. Now we almost do shit with them.”

“It’s very efficient,” Locus agrees, then looks pointedly at Caboose, “unlike laced shoes, you’re right.”

Caboose grins and throws themself at Locus, knocking them into Simmons and causing the three to go crashing to the floor in a pile of tangled limbs and yelling. Tucker shrugs and pitches himself on top. 

Grif steps in to call them to lunch, sees the impromptu cuddle pile, and steps right back out.


	2. I'm Coming Out (So You Better Get This Party Started)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -Tucker is sixteen when he crawls through his boyfriend's window and asks to be called "he."
> 
> -When Caboose is eight, his sister tells everyone she's a girl. Caboose is confused. Are you only supposed to be one?
> 
> -Turns out, Simmons isn't the only one in this stupid canyon who's trans. It'd be great if the ship was less crashed, though.
> 
> -Locus is half asleep at the breakfast table when they correct Tucker on their pronouns. This was not how they intended to come out, but they guess it works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure the song goes "I'm coming up" but it was my coming out anthem and now it gets to be theirs.
> 
> Some super minor misgendering that is quickly corrected and not done in malice. Also some super minor dysphoria and a tiny reference to homophobia.

Tucker is sixteen and on another ADHD wikipedia binge when he finds himself reading about the history of hormone replacement therapy. It's pretty interesting, actually, but the wiki has almost zero content about it being used for trans people, which, you know, is what Tucker is most familiar with.

So he hops into a new tab with Google and scrolls through results, reads a few articles. There's a weird feeling in his chest as he reads a couple first hand accounts.

He opens a new tab and googles “gender dysphoria symptoms”.

Three hours later, he snaps his laptop closed and puts his head in his hands. “Holy fuck,” he whispers, because suddenly a lot of things make a lot more sense. 

He doesn't sleep that night. 

He's hyper-aware of his clothing the next morning- the sports bra, the baggy hoodie, jeans that are too big. There's nothing different from any other day, but there are so many implications he's considering now. 

He looks in the mirror, fusses with the way his hoodie lays until his chest looks flat. He doesn't know how to feel about it.

Tucker bolts from his room before he thinks about it anymore. He (un)successfully avoids thinking about for three days, until a customer at his job calls him “ma’am" and he drops a whole fucking latte on the floor. His coworker stays after close to help clean up.

“I saw you flinch,” she says softly. “Are you okay? I know your parents were weird when you came out as pan. I just want to make sure you're safe, and that I don't have to figure out how to hide a teenager in my dorm.”

Tucker looks at the Pride pins on Kat’s apron, glances down at the heart in pansexual colors she drew on his nametag months ago. “What do you know about, uh, transgender...ism?”

Kat leans on her mop. “Nothing personally? I did the ‘queer person gender questioning’ at, like, fifteen? And decided yeah, I'm cis. But I can find some resources for you. Or I can back the fuck off and let you figure this out yourself.”

“I don't know. I only started thinking about a couple nights ago, and I've been trying not to.”

“Can I make a suggestion?” she asks. Tucker nods. “Try it. Try masculine pronouns. Try neutral pronouns, try the eight million neo-pronouns out there. If, in the end, you decide they're not for you, who did you hurt? But if you try them and one of them feels right? You might just feel better.” She smiles at him. “I felt a lot happier when I stopped pressuring myself to want sex.”

“All or Nothing Shift?” Tucker holds up his fist.

Kat chuckles and bumps their fists together. “The two queerest people in town.”

It takes a second for Tucker to realize she changed their jingle. She used to say “queerest girls.” 

He thinks he likes this new version better.

Kat gives him a lift home, but he doesn't go inside. He crosses the street and ducks into his neighbor's backyard, climbing the big tree there until he was level with a second story window. He knocks on the window. “Marc. Marc. Marcus, open the window!”

Marcus slides the window open and staggers back several steps as Tucker pulls himself through. “Babe, my parents are gonna be mad if they find out I let my girlfriend in on a school night.”

“I think I'm your boyfriend,” he says before he can chicken out. 

Marcus stares at him, bewildered. “What?”

“I. I wanna try. Ugh.” Tucker flops onto Marcus’s bed. “I read about being transgender a few days ago, and. I think I might be.”

Marcus sits next him. “Uh-huh.”

“So I asked Kat, because she answered a lot of questions when I gay panicked. Pan panicked?”

“I think gay is an umbrella term,” Marcus says.

“Yeah. And she said that, I don't know, I should see? Try being a man, or a nonbinary person, and see if it fits. And I want to. So. Yeah.”

Marcus nods. “Okay. Should I call you something else? Like, your name is really… feminine? So.”

“I didn't even think about that,” Tucker whispers. “Uh. Um. Fuck.”

Marcus tangles their fingers together. “Let me know, okay? Until then, does this make me bi? Is it my turn for a gay panic?”

Tucker shoves him off the bed. “Fuck off,” but he's laughing. “Maybe? Maybe you're just…” He thinks for a second. “Tucker-sexual?”

“I like girls and also my smokin’ hot boyfriend,” Marcus says from the floor, and Tucker's heart flip-flops in his chest.

Yeah. Yeah, maybe this it. Maybe this is his ‘right’.

He's gonna be fine.

* * *

Caboose is eight years old when his older sibling tells everyone she's their sister. Andi, as the oldest, takes the time to gather all eighteen of them to sit and talk so they understand everything. There's enough of them that sharing information any other way turns into a game of telephone.

“What name should we call you now?” Esther, who is just younger than Andi and Caboose’s new(always?) sister, asks.

“Cecilia,” Caboose’s sister says.

“Why are you changing your name?” Iris, the third youngest, asks.

“Because it was a boy's name and I'm not a boy.”

Oh. Does that mean he needs new names? He asks this.

Cecilia looks at him. “Why would you need a new name, Mikey?”

“Because I'm not a boy always,” he says. Did they not know? He thought they did.

Andi taps his hand. “Mikey, are you our sister, too?”

Caboose shakes his head. “I'm your brother all the time. I'm just a girl sometimes. Or not either.” He’s a little confused. “Is everyone not like that? I thought we got to choose and Ce...Cecily… CeCe chose a girl.”

Cecilia hiccups. She started crying while Caboose was struggling with her new name, and she pulls him into a hug. “No, not everyone is like that. Some of us are just one all the time.”

“And you're a girl all the time,” Caboose says. CeCe nods and sniffles in his hair. “Do I have to be one all the time?”

“Absolutely not,” Andi says. “And you only have to change your name if you want to.”

“...Is this a bad time to say I'm a lesbian?” Tamara asks.

“What's that?” Bridget chirps from where she's leaning on Silvia.

“A girl who likes girls,” Tamela, Tamara’s twin, tells her.

And that starts a whole new line of questions that ends with Andi pulling out her datapad and looking a lot of things up online.

“Genderqueer,” she reads at one point, “a person that identifies with neither, both, or a combination of male and female genders.”

“Sounds like Mikey.” CeCe has settled Caboose into her lap.

“I like it,” Caboose mumbles, braiding Jacqueline’s hair. “It's a good word.”

“I think we're all a little queer,” Andi agrees, and she's smiling.

* * *

The ship crashes. Of course it does. Simmons doesn't know why he expected any different, it's _them._

And he swears to _God_ , if he has to listen to Tucker and Wash bicker anymore, he's going to lock them in a closet until they make out or kill each other. He's sure there's one still intact in the wreckage.

He thinks about that, then goes straight to Sarge and apologizes for what he and Grif must have inflicted on him.

Eventually the fires stop, and the familiar dry heat is replaced with something far worse.

“It's not that humid,” Grif says, and is immediately hit by five withering glares. 

“Grif,” Simmons says slowly. “Most of us aren't from _Hawaii._ ”

“I miss the moon,” Caboose whines into the floor. Tucker pats his shoulder. 

“Are you really from Hawaii?” Wash asks. He's still getting to know all of them. 

“Honolulu,” Grif tells him. He passes Simmons a water bottle, and Simmons barely resists the temptation to dump it over his head. A temperature warning flicks on in the corner of his vision. 

“Fuck,” Simmons sighs, and struggles to peel his sweat soaked shirt from his body. Grif realizes what must be going on and helps. Simmons chucks the fabric at the wall, where it slides into a damp heap. Stupid cyborg parts and their penchant for overheating.

Tucker and Caboose are staring at him.

“What?” he snaps, then freezes with horror. The top surgery scar. Only one, because the other half of his chest is metal, but it's still obviously recognizable.

It's too hot for an anxiety attack, but Simmons is inching towards one anyway. 

But the disgust and ridicule don't come. Instead, Caboose starts cheering, and Tucker is grinning like a loon as he grabs the bottom hem of his shirt and pulls it up and- oh.

Two neat scars curve under Tucker's pectorals.

“Oh,” Simmons says.

“One of us, one of us, one of us,” the two Blues start chanting, getting steadily louder. Simmons is trying so hard to keep his composure, but Grif bumps his shoulder and his breaks. He snickers into his fist and accepts the high-five Tucker offers. (Sarge makes a quietly dismayed sound, but doesn't say anything, and that's nearly encouragement.)

“I can't believe I could have been bitching to you this whole time,” Tucker complains. Caboose lays his arm across his ankle and Tucker sets a hand on his wrist. They touch each other like that constantly, Simmons notices. He wonders if those casual touches are commonplace for Blue Team. 

“You had Caboose, right?” Grif bumps against Simmons’s shoulder again. “He's a Blue. Simmons is my bitching partner.”

“They,” Caboose says. “I am neither today.”

“Sorry,” Grif apologizes. “They're a Blue. Simmons is still mine.”

Wash tilts his head. “Oh, you _are_ together. I wasn't sure.”

“Everyone here is queer, Wash, keep up,” Tucker says. “It's too hot to explain everything to you.”

Wash frowns, brow furrowing, and Simmons has to act fast before another fight breaks out.

He dumps his water bottle on Wash’s head. It starts a water fight and all of them are drenched at the end but Grif kisses him in front of everyone and maybe everything is a shitshow right now but it'll probably be okay.

It has been so far, right?

* * *

Sam figures it out in junior high. 

See, his colony is one of the more ‘progressive’ ones, with things like free public college and protections of basic human rights. Ithaca also has a modern approach to sex ed, teaching about safe sex and queer orientations and various gender identities.

Genderfluidity is defined very briefly, most of the focus on intersex and the more “common"(visible) trans identities, but it rattles around in his head for the rest of the day. 

He goes home and looks it up online and it's him.

It's _them_.

Nothing really changes. Sam still goes to school, is still big and broad and intimidating, but sometimes _he_ is actually _they_ or even, rarely, _she_. Their mamá changes from calling them her son to calling them her child. They convince the boys they date to call them their partner and not their boyfriend. When they get their ID, the gender marker is an X instead of an M.

Years later, when he is _Locus_ and not _Sam_ , he tells himself it doesn't matter. People hear his voice and say “male,” and they aren't wrong. He is, technically. Most of these time, even. 

But one day Locus is _she_ and someone calls her “Mister Locus" and it sits so awfully in her gut and her head that she picks up and leaves the Fed base for several days.

(She calls Felix and he comes, peels her out of her armor and murmurs sweet words into her skin and coaxes the Fed’s name from her. The soldier is found in pieces later that week. The official report says “the Rebel mercenary got him.”)

But then everything comes to a head and Felix is gone and Locus is so, so lost.

But they find home again, with group of misfits and morons who just take them as they are.

(It doesn't matter, is the lie they keep telling themself, but it does.)

Locus is half asleep at the breakfast table when Tucker sets a plate down and says “-and whole wheat toast for Locus because he's a loser.” 

Without thinking, Locus corrects, “they,” because _he_ isn't right today, wasn't right yesterday, either.

It takes a full minute of absolute silence for them to realize what they said.

Tucker slams his hands on the table. “Have you been letting us misgender you this whole time?”

Most of the others sort of lean back. Caboose, though, looks ecstatic for some reason. Simmons has sat up straighter, eyes shining.

Tucker looks furious. “Locus. Have we been misgendering you?”

“No,” they say quickly. Tucker obviously doesn't buy it, so they backtrack. “Not… usually,” they try again. “Masculine pronouns are usually appropriate, but sometimes-"

“Sometimes not,” Caboose interrupts, bouncing in their seat. Locus doesn't understand why they're so excited. “Me too!” Oh.

_Oh._

“One of us,” Simmons says under his breath, and Grif chokes on nothing. “One of us, one of us-"

“One of us,” Tucker and Caboose join, and all three dissolve into giggling.

Tucker points at Simmons once he's caught his breath. “I'm calling an emergency meeting.”

“After breakfast,” Wash says. He'd put his face on the table when the chanting started. 

“What meeting?” Locus asks. They've just become increasingly more confused.

Simmons shrugs. “The Sim Trooper Trans Team. We started it on Chorus before everything started happening, and since you're Red Team-"

“Blue Team,” Tucker says.

“ _Neither,_ ” Locus insists.

Simmons glares at them both. “Since Locus is Red Team, they're obviously part of the Trans Team, too.”

Tucker snorts. “Eat your fucking toast, Locus, these meetings are always a disaster and you're gonna need the carbs.”

Locus eats their fucking toast. They're kind of looking forward to seeing what this is about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, some ships. Idk if I should tag them? They're minor so far.
> 
> Will I ever write anything without hurting Locus? Ever?


	3. Loud and Proud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker bumps their shoulders together. “These kids are already dying too fucking early, Sims. They deserve to be proud. And if pretending I'm not scared as shit to be the loudest and proudest helps with that? I'll be the queerest motherfucker on Chorus.” 
> 
> “I don't think I know how,” Simmons whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing my trend of posting just after midnight.
> 
> This one got. Heavy. Heavier than the others, at least. Ends lighthearted, though.
> 
> Simmons is. So good. I love writing him.

They've been in the New Republic camp for just over week when it happens.

They're all lost and listless, still learning to respond to their new ranks and sticking together constantly. Even now, they're finding some way to touch each other. Simmons has his ankle hooked around Grif’s and Tucker and Caboose are so close they're almost in each other's lap.

Washington's words are still rattling around in their ears. Tucker is taking it the hardest, Simmons thinks. He'd finally realized he loved Wash.

Then it happens. Someone across the mess hall shouts a slur that most of them have heard and Simmons feels the urge to crawl out of his own skin while Caboose looks wrecked and hurt and Tucker- well, Tucker snaps, that pent up guilt and anger choosing this as an outlet as he rockets out of his seat fast enough the chair falls. The clatter sends the room silent.

“Say it again,” he says, low and furious. Across the room, two cadets are frozen on their feet, one with tears building in her eyes. Tucker stalks around the table and moves towards them. “Say it again, Private.”

The Private protests. “Sir-"

“I changed my mind, shut the fuck up.” Tucker looks at the other cadet. “What's your name?”

“Private Takumi, sir" she says softly. “Yuuki.”

“Yuuki. You pick it for a reason?”

“It means _gentle hope_ ,” she tells him.

“Damn, you put more thought into yours than I did on mine,” Tucker says, and Takumi’s eyes light up. The other Private begins to see exactly how much he fucked up.

“Alright, motherfuckers,” Tucker says loudly, looking around. “Next time one of you says shit like that, you answer to me, understand?” He slings an arm around Takumi’s shoulders and leads her back to their table. “Hey assholes, meet my new best friend Yuuki.”

“Hello, Yuuki!” Caboose says. “You can be my new best friend, too.”

Takumi bursts into tears and throws her arms around Caboose. They wrap an arm around her waist and guide her into a chair.

Simmons wants to say something- _hey, me too, you're not alone_ \- but he remembers that fucking word and the words die in his throat. 

He shifts closer to Grif, pressing their hips together, that word and ‘Freckles, shake’ looping and overlapping until he wants to dig into brain and pull the memories of both out with his fingernails.

* * *

Tucker collects a gaggle of queer cadets over the next couple of days- just Takumi grows into Private Palomo, a little ace kid; Private Matthews, agender and gay; Lieutenant Andersmith, intersex and aromantic; and a half dozen others looking for someone like them. They all trail after the two Blues like ducklings, or their own personal Pride parade. 

Tucker is fiercely protective of them, up to escorting Andersmith to the Pelican when he takes on a mission and pacing the garage for over an hour when they miss their projected landing. Simmons watches Tucker pace and listens to one of the mechanics, Private Jensen, ask her friend about painkillers. 

Felix props himself against the wall next to Simmons. “How long has he been there?” he asks, nodding towards Tucker.

Simmons doesn't like Felix. There's something about the way he speaks and acts and holds himself that reminds Simmons of his father, though he can't place exactly what it is. It's still extremely uncomfortable. “A while,” he says shortly.

Felix laughs and steps to the side, giving Simmons more space. “Didn't mean to upset you, Captain.” His eyes go back to Tucker, and Simmons tries not to feel relieved. “I just don't want him getting attached. They're probably not coming back.”

(They come back. Mission fail, but everyone makes it home alive, and Grif insists that’s what matters. There’s a haunted look to his face. Simmons doesn’t ask.)

One of the other members of Andersmith’s team had her chest peppered with shrapnel. She's worried about scars, so Tucker drags Caboose and Simmons to the hospital the next day and shows off his mastectomy scars. Simmons lets her see where metal meets flesh on his face.

* * *

The four of them share a room- still can't bear being apart for long- so it isn't hard to catch Tucker alone. “How do you do it?”

Tucker looks up from where he's strapping his armor to his thighs. “Do what?”

Simmons drops onto his bed. “You're so… proud of who you are. Open about it. How are you not fucking terrified?”

Tucker sits down next to him. “I was, Simmons. For a long time. Fuck, I still am.” He laughs when Simmons looks at him in shock. “I was in the closet most of the time we were in Blood Gulch, Simmons, because… Well, we probably both know the statistics for military rape.” 

Simmons does. It's why he kept closet-clinging far longer than he wanted to.

Tucker bumps their shoulders together. “These kids are already dying too fucking early, Sims. They deserve to be proud. And if pretending I'm not scared as shit to be the loudest and proudest helps with that? I'll be the queerest motherfucker on Chorus.” 

“I don't think I know how,” Simmons whispers.

Tucker shrugs. “We're different people, Simmons. You don't have to. I just- I have to do something right, here.” He gets to his feet and starts pulling on the rest of his armor. “C’mon, General Kimball wants to see us.”

* * *

Simmons looks out over his squad. He hopes it's not obvious he's absolutely hyperventilating in his helmet as his HUD pings him with their names.

Private Yuuki Takumi. Private Amelia Briggs. Private Jordan Saunders. Private Yvonne Valdez. The newly-promoted Lieutenant Katie Jensen. 

The biological readout has a list of things about their medical status. Private Briggs has an insulin pump and her armor is customized to protect it. Private Valdez is missing half her right leg. Lieutenant Jensen has an elevated heart and respiration rate that his HUD is flagging as distress-possibly-pain.

Simmons pulls himself together. “Lieutenant? Are you hurt?”

“No, sir,” she says quickly, but her voice is strained. She shifts her weight and presses a hand to her abdomen. “Just, just cramps, Captain.”

Simmons flinches and immediately checks his thigh compartment. He never really lost the habit of carrying pads and ibuprofen, even after losing his uterus to the cyborg surgery. Tucker still needs them, anyway.

“Oh my god,” Valdez says when he offers the baggie of pills and colorful wrapper to Jensen. “Oh my god, our Captain carries period supplies, what are the fucking odds?”

Simmons has a choice in front of him. _They deserve to be proud,_ he remembers. He knows Takumi is queer, and there's no telling if any of these other girls are as well, or even just embarrassed. “Just because I don't need them anymore doesn't mean I'll never meet anybody who does.”

“Anymore,” Takumi repeats, excited. Jensen pulls off her helmet and takes the painkillers from Simmons hands.

“We got the coolest fucking Captain,” Saunders says, yanking off her own helmet. “Holy shit, I can't wait to tell Ky.”

“God, do you ever shut up about your girlfriend?” Briggs asks, but it sounds like lighthearted ribbing. Saunders blows a raspberry. 

“Let her be, ‘Mia,” Takumi scolds. “We listen to you complain about your boyfriends.”

Jensen dry swallows three of the pills. “Thanks, Captain Simmons.” She grins at him. “I'm glad we got you.”

Simmons takes off his helmet so his squad can see him smile back. Briggs mutters “oh no, he's cute,” and he flushes.

Maybe Tucker was onto something with his “loud and proud" idea.


	4. The Intersectionality of Ceramic, Wool, and Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Locus reflects on the past, on dysphoria, and the way it's been dealt with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did u think I wasn't gonna have a Locus-centric chapter? Did u think I wasn't gonna have _logrimmons_?
> 
> Locus uses feminine pronouns throughout this chapter, fyi. Also, please note the updated rating! It's non-graphic and pretty fade-to-black but idk, be warned.

There have been two times in Locus's life where a _she_ day has been mostly comfortable.

The first was like this:

Megan had given Sam a set of pronoun buttons two weeks ago. When Sam got ready for the day, she grabbed the green “they/them" button… then slowly set it down and pinned the lilac “she/her" button to her shirt instead. 

She crossed the hall from the room she shared with Isaac to knock on the doorframe of the master bedroom. Megan poked her head out of her bathroom, hair cascading around her face in gentle waves, ceramic hair straightener in one hand. “Sam! Need something?”

“Will you teach me to use that?” Sam pointed at the straightener. Megan grinned and beckoned her in, showing her the right way to twist the straightener so her hair fell in perfect glossy curls. 

Isaac wrecked those curls that night, tangling his fingers in them and kissing her senseless, but until that point Sam felt soft and feminine every time her hair fell in her face.

 

The second happened this way:

Sam bought a skirt online with money saved bit by bit over weeks. It sat in a box in the bottom of the closet of Isaac's and their shitty apartment until Sam had another feminine day and couldn't look in a mirror without feeling awful, so she dug it out and put it on. Isaac came home with a possible bounty to her spread out on the couch with a thrift store novel and a dark grey gored skirt and dropped to his knees in front of her.

“You're gorgeous,” he breathed, hands tugging lightly on the bottom hem of the skirt. “Is this what you had in that box?”

“You didn't look?” Sam asked.

“Wanted to be surprised. Can I get you off?”

Her breath caught, but she let him get his head between her thighs and almost believed him when he called her beautiful.

 

This is what happens today:

Locus carefully extricates from between Grif and Simmons. Simmons eyes flicker open and he smiles, and Locus knows it will only be a couple minutes before he's up, too.

Locus steps to the dresser to pick clothes for the day, pulling on black slacks and a shirt with a bumblebee embroidered on the front(Kaikaina claimed she couldn't find one with a grasshopper). Locus hesitates over picking a pronoun button. 

They're green and purple, like the last set, but still different- lighter green, royal instead of lilac- but they're still functional, and they still make Locus feel heavy and warm. 

Locus takes a deep breath, grabs a button, and pins it next to the bee.

Simmons sees the button later, when he hands Locus the usual morning tea. He smiles and briefly presses their lips together and goes back to setting up the kitchen for Tucker.

“Morning fuckos,” Tucker says ten minutes later when he pads in, like usual.

“Don't call my girlfriend a fucko,” Simmons tells him, like usual, except-

Tucker glances at Locus and checks today's pronouns. There's no other reaction or fanfare. “I'll call her whatever I want, she’s a Red traitor.”

“I'm neither,” Locus says. By this point, it's habit- not even she believes she's anything less than a Red. “I still prefer ‘datemate’, by the way.” Not partner, not anymore, but there's still no appeal in changing the gender of terms like that all the time. It's inefficient.

“Sorry.” Simmons refills her mug with hot water. “This is your first feminine day-slash-days with us, anything we should know?”

Locus thinks for a moment, remembering Megan's hands guiding her through the precise way to turn her wrist for her hair to curl, the phantom feeling of soft grey wool brushing against her ankles and calves.

“Does Kaikaina own a hair straightener?”


	5. LTucker has sent you a snap!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker and Junior go to the lake. Junior documents the whole thing on Snapchat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..... this takes place in a giant guilty pleasure AU of mine that is yet unnamed but I'm currently calling "The Norkingtucker Modern AU" because I hoard rarepairs like I'm a dragon. I have one other thing for this au on my Tumblr [here](http://onthenilerivah.tumblr.com/post/175465561392/tuckington-family-date-night-aka-junior-is-there) and also way too many notes.
> 
> Background info is atm Wash has been in a serious committed relationship with North/York for just over a year and dating Tucker for... two or three months? At this point? It also takes place after the piece I linked above.

_LTucker sent you a snap!_

Wash glanced at his phone when it chimed, smiling at the notification before going back to his notes. Theta grinned at him across the table, kicking Wash’s shin.

“What?” Wash asked the nine-year-old.

“Was that Tucker and Junior?” He bounced in his seat, math homework forgotten. “Junior said he was going to the beach after school today and he would send me pictures.”

“So those are snapchats for you,” Wash said, slowly sliding his phone off the table. He considered it dramatically, then shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. Theta shrieked.

“Everyone okay?” North called from the other room.

“Yep!” Wash shouted back. He fished his phone back out and moved around the table to sit next to Theta.

The first picture was of a skinny man with dark hair glaring at an extremely smug blonde woman. _Leo and Allison are arguing about directions while ada makes fun of them_

The next was a selfie of Junior and Tucker, sunglasses stickers set on their faces. _the coolest people in this car tbh_

The third was caption free, a candid shot of Tucker looking out the window, white fractal tattoos peeking out from under his tank top. He looks happy, Wash thought, and screencapped it. Theta elbowed him.

There weren’t any more snaps after that, so Wash put his phone down and started reorganizing his notes again. Theta sighed but worked on his homework. He was just packing up twenty minutes later when Wash’s phone chimed three times in quick succession. They were videos this time.

“Allison, put me down,” the dark-haired man from earlier screeched. The woman- his girlfriend?- had him in a fireman’s carry and was jogging towards the water. The video stalled as it switched, and Tucker entered the frame, chanting “Tex, Tex, Tex!” The last video was Allison heaving the man, probably Tucker’s best friend Leonard, into the lake, Leo screaming the whole time.

North had wandered into the kitchen just as they started the videos, watching over Wash’s shoulder. “Looks like Junior is having a lot of fun.”

“Yeah!” Theta turned in his chair. “He said if it was okay I could go next time? His godparents own part of the lake so we could camp out this summer.”

“‘We’ as in the two of you?” North asked.

“And his Ada.”

Wash’s phone chimed again. Another photo, Tucker again: limbs askew in the sand, tank top folded and tucked under his head. His torso was peppered with scars and stretch marks that Wash _knew_ he was self conscious about, but one of his arms was raised to give Junior a thumbs up. The negative space is full of stickers, neon sparkles and flames and a single arrow pointing the where Leo is probably trying to drown Allison in the background. _Ada chillin 4 once_

Junior must have sent another snap while they were looking, because it loaded automatically: a peace-sign selfie of Junior with the sunglasses sticker again. _gtg save uncle leo ttyl_

“I like that kid,” York said, drawn in by the screaming earlier. “Like his parent, too.”

“I keep forgetting you’ve met Tucker before.” Wash gathered up his papers-if he color codes any more English notes, he’s just going to turn in a paper that says “all your faves are queer” and call it that.

“I keep forgetting Tucker-Wash’s-Boyfriend and Tucker-Leo’s-Best-Friend are the same person, so…” York shrugged. “Eh?”

“All I’m hearing is it’s time for me to meet him,” North said. “He’s both Wash’s boyfriend and Junior’s dad-”

“Ada,” Wash and Theta corrected automatically. They looked at each other- apparently the Tucker family has them trained.

North blinked a couple times as he processed. “That was. Eerie.”

Wash opened his mouth to explain, but Theta beat him to it. “Junior’s dad and his Ada are different people, and he uses Ada because his Ada's ‘relationship with gender is meh’.”

Another notification dinged, and Wash opened Snapchat again. It’s another video, of Leo chasing Allison through the shallows with Junior on his shoulders screeching in a wordless war cry. “There’s gonna be two of them,” Tucker muttered behind the camera, but he sounded at ease. _pls tell me theta is less chaotic_

Theta fumbled for the phone, almost dropping it twice. He pressed up against Wash’s side, catching his dad and York in the shot as well. _i cant wait!!!!!!_  
\--

Tucker opened the snap from Wash and snorted. Theta looked like a handful, but Junior loved him.

And fucking York pulling faces in the background. Tucker hadn’t realized he missed the giant dork. 

Junior came bounding back, dripping wet and grinning. “Ada! C’mon! Or is it a bad wrist day?”

Tucker flexed his hand automatically. Between the nerve damage and the later break, his left wrist was fucked. “Nah, I’m good. Let’s go drown Leo.”

“I heard that, Lavernius!” Leo yelled, flipping him off. 

“It’s fuckin’ on!” Tucker shouted back and charged down the beach. He was distantly aware of Junior lifting his phone to record, but he was too busy tackling Leo into the lake to really pay attention.


	6. Finish What You Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Maybe that's what Lucker was for. Being._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still Friday here but the karaoke singers at this bar are fucking terrible and I finished this fic at this same bar last week so why tf not?
> 
> For PrimTheAmazing's Fusion AU! Because I can't do one of my eighty million aus for the AU prompt :3c

Locus hadn't fused with any of them. 

Which, that's fine, sure, the last person they fused with was Felix and Tucker was pretty sure that he'd swear off fusion if _he_ had shared brainspace with someone that fucking nuts. Except every time Grimmons curled up on the beach with his arms wrapped around himself, every time Washlina came together to remind themselves that they were still here despite everything, every time Sarboose made an appearance to plunge directly into the ocean yelling, Locus got this look.

Tucker knew that look. He'd seen it in Wash’s face just after Sidewinder when Tucker and Caboose had fused to chase off the Reds. 

He thought about that look a lot, to the point of distraction.

Locus checked him again. Tucker hit the dirt hard, wind knocked out of him, wooden practice sword flung several feet away. He groaned and waited for the sheltered clearing to come back into focus.

“Should we reschedule?” Locus offered Tucker their hand and pulled him to his feet. “If you're not up to this-"

“Hey, fuck you.” Tucker scooped up the practice sword and stepped back, bending his knees and crossing the blade across his chest into ‘guard’ position. Locus mirrored him for a beat before they swung and the spar started again.

They did this a lot. The two of them were the only two humans with alien swords like this, it only made sense to practice together. And when Tucker actually focused, they were well-matched. The sound of wood against wood was almost rhythmic, step, twist, duck, until Locus turned to catch him as Tucker tried to strike and their bodies collided and-

They stared at their hands, broad and crisscrossed with scars they recognized but didn't recognize. 

Oh. 

The new fusion looked at themselves in awe. They didn't think they could still do this, they thought He broke them-

 _He?_

-and they split, Locus and Tucker flung in opposite directions, left gasping in the grass. Tucker pushed up onto an elbow and watched Locus struggle to process what just happened.

That was. Enlightening. 

“Holy shit,” he said.

Locus looked at him.

“Holy _shit_ ,” he said again.

“What?” Locus snapped, and Tucker grinned.

“We fused! We were a person! Let’s do it again.”

“No,” Locus said immediately. They’re scared, Tucker realized. He scooted forward and sat cross legged in front of them. Locus wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t have anything left to give,” they admitted after long minutes, soft and shaking and vulnerable.

“Then don’t,” Tucker told them. “That’s not what fusion is.”

“That’s all it’s ever been,” Locus insisted. “Giving and taking until-”

Tucker cut them off and pulled them into a hug. “That’s not what it should be,” he said. Locus sat tense in his arms, breath shuddering, until they leaned against him slowly, by increments-

And they were back, arms wrapped around themselves, eyes shut tight. They swallowed sharply and pressed their face into their knees and just felt. 

This was different. It was different from what Locus felt because they weren’t angry and hateful and afraid like Lolix used to be. They were still afraid, but not like that. And it was different from Washer and Tuckboose, too, because they weren’t smug or confident or even just happy.

They just. Were. Hesitantly, impossibly, they were.

They needed a name. At least, they thought they did. Tuckus? No, that was awful. Maybe something with Or- (Part of them shut that train of thought down so fast they felt themselves shiver and start to fracture before pulling themselves back together.) “Lucker,” they said after a second. “I like it. It’s ironic.”

But who were they? They had no mission, no purpose, no reason to be other than just being, what was the point, they were useless and broken and-

“No,” Lucker said out loud, grabbing their hair. They startled a little- it was curly, but not quite curly enough to hold Tucker's dreads. It wasn't pulled back, either, the way Locus kept theirs. It just was.

Maybe that's what Lucker was for. Being. 

The decision to come apart was less _made_ and more _simply understood_. Tucker silently helped Locus to their feet. 

“I didn't know it could be like that,” they said. 

“Honestly, neither did I.” Tucker still had Locus's hand in his. “That, uh. Was quieter than any other fusion I've seen before. Lucker is-"

Locus kissed him. Tucker hesitated less than a second before kissing back, winding his fingers into their hair. “Jesus, dude,” he said when they broke for air. He remembered how fucking lonely Lucker felt, how that loneliness definitely wasn't from him. 

“I’m sorry,” they said, trying to back away, but Tucker pulled them back down, grabbing one of their hands and setting it on his hip. 

“Finish what you started,” he dared, and Locus pressed him back into one of cliffs around their clearing and neither of them spoke for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did u know.... I'm rarepair garbage...........


	7. Pretty Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Sirens don't sleep well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finishing out the week is my Borderlands AU, No Heaven. You can read the main fic [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787414/chapters/34210119) For this chapter, though, all you need to know is Tucker is a Siren and Wash is an ex-assassin that used to work for a different Siren and antagonist from the actual game, Commandant Steele.
> 
> The prompt for today was Song/Lyrics, and while it doesn't match the feel of this perfectly, [New Fears](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_G6teAqkiYs) by Lights is the Tuckington theme song in this au, so go ahead and take a second to listen if you'd like!

Wash jolted awake. It took a moment to place _why_ he woke so suddenly, but he saw the soft glow of Tucker’s brands and relaxed. “Why are you up?”

“M’fine. Go back to sleep.” Tucker didn’t look at him, staring into the shadows of the room, haloed by the light he made.

Wash sighed and lifted an arm. Tucker hesitated, then curled into his chest, face pressed to the hard plane of his sternum. Wash pulled him close enough to feel his heartbeat start to slow, light fading as Tucker calmed down. Must have had another nightmare.

“It's my birthday,” Tucker said suddenly. “I'm thirty-seven.”

“Hmm?” Wash was so, so careful not to bring up anything personal with Tucker, lest he withdraw and avoid him, and him volunteering information like this was rare.

“Yeah.” He squished his face harder against Wash’s chest. “I hate my birthday. Nothing good ever happens.”

“I'd say this is pretty good,” Wash offered hesitantly. It _was_ good, their room dark and quiet, the two of them tangled together, Tucker’s bare skin warm against his own.

He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He shifted to lay completely on top of Wash.

Wash dragged his hands up and down Tucker’s back. He was always a little surprised his marks feel the same as the rest of his skin, but he’d traced them so many times he knew where they were, even when he couldn’t see them.

He wished, secretly, that Tucker didn’t hate them as much as he did. He knew Tucker didn’t understand why he loved them after what Steele had done.

Tucker hummed softly, the vibrations rumbling into Wash’s ribs. Wash had started to fall back asleep when Tucker tried to move again. Wash tightened his hold on Tucker’s waist, and immediately his brands lit, hot and electric against his flesh.

He let go, and Tucker threw himself aside and pressed his back to the wall. Wash idly catalogued all the ways he could kill him before viciously stifling the assassin habits woven into bones. “I’m sorry,” Wash apologized. He reached down to snag Tucker’s binder off the floor where it had been abandoned a few hours ago and carefully set it between them. Tucker snatched it up and used it to cover his chest. 

“Don’t _do_ that,” he snapped, voice shaking. “I was- Jesus, Wash, I was ready to kill you.”

It’s something Wash didn’t ever think the two of them would really lose. Wash was raised to murder; Tucker started killing to survive.

Tucker tipped his head back against the wall with a soft _thunk_. “Well now I'm definitely awake.”

“Me, too,” Wash said. He sat up slowly. “Want my knife?” Maybe if Tucker was armed, he’d feel better? Not that he needed a weapon- the power buzzing under his skin was deadly enough.

“No, I don't want your knife. I don't actually want you dead, surprisingly. It's almost like you're my… what the fuck are we? Boyfriends?”

“I'm not sure.” Lovers might be a good word, but they weren't that soft. Nothing on Pandora was, especially not a washed-up assassin and a Siren who's been running since he was thirteen. “Do we have to call ourselves anything?”

“Whatever we are, I actually like you or some shit. I want you around.”

“You can't actually kill me, you know,” Wash pointed out. “New-U subscription.”

“Maybe I should stab you,” Tucker said. “Make you wait out the dark cycle in Overlook, _and_ make Hyperion pay for it.” He reached out, and Wash took his hand, lacing their fingers. “Did I hurt you? Sometimes they do that.”

“No.” An echo of electricity bounced around his brain at the lie. “Well, yes, but…”

“Oh my _god_.” Tucker’s voice was breathy. “You're into that. You want me to use my big, bad, brain-melting Siren powers to hold you down and _hurt_ you.”

A tingling thrill shot down Wash’s spine. “Absolutely not. We were talking about you.”

“No, this is a much better subject. Birthday sex is a thing, right? A thing that normal, non-brainwashed, non-cultist people do. We should do that.”

“We should not do that, because we did that-" He glanced at the ECHO on the nightstand- “literally four hours ago.”

“I think my scarf is still in the hall.” He sounded extremely self satisfied as he tossed the binder back onto the floor. “Okay, I think it's safe for you to touch my marks again.”

“You don't have-" Wash started, but Tucker cut him off.

“Shut up and hold me. I'm sorry I panicked, I was falling asleep and didn't realize it was you.” He was still glowing, but it was fading fast. Wash gently tugged him closer with their joined hands. Tucker sighed when he wouldn't do anything more than that. “Atlas idiot,” he murmured, and wrapped one leg around Wash's waist. “Mmm, you were very into that. You sure you don't wanna?”

“Yes.”

“‘Kay.” Tucker snuggled into his side. “Did I ever tell you about the first time I talked to Simmons?”

Wash knew after that scare, neither of them were getting back to sleep any time soon. “No, you haven't. One of your good stories?”

“Yep. Okay, so, I was trying to see if my powers could hack passwords- they can't, by the way- and when I pushed away from the desk, the chair rolled directly into the ECHOcomm controls, right? And I fuckin’ turned it on….”

Wash let Tucker's voice fade into white noise, focused on committing everything about this moment to memory. Everything about Connie and Maine and the rest of his team(his _family_ ) had faded with both time and Steele, but this?

He wasn't letting this go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda don't want this week to end? This was a lot of fun, thank you everyone for coming on this adventure in writing with me.


End file.
